~ Literary Street Cred

Monthly Archives: April 2015

He says that her name is
the one from the bible and
he laughs to himself and she stands
and goes into the air and the wind
turns blue and surrounds her and her eyes
become hard and large, her genetics change, she
opens her mouth. He takes out
his famous sword and
slices through her and the light
of the moon is a strength on
his blade and the light of the moon is
what is testosterone.

They can see each other
across the bar and he can
see that she is in the future
and skip stones on a beach that has not quite
enough colour and the sand is in her feat, so he
comes back to the present and she closes the
portal in mirror, he can still watch her because
his eyes area gift and she becomes
a being that transcends feminity
and season and legs and arms
and her lips don’t talk and the sunrises,
not on top of the ocean, but into neptune
and the stomach of the bluest of beasts.

you’re looking at the wall
and then you become a mother
and the wall becomes a son
and you want your child to have children, but there
are not enough stones to build a house and
there are old trees that you can build up around you
and you can see flamingos and
you tell you boy to look
at the birds and how funny of beaks that
they have, but he does not understand
what is so unique about the birds,
but he names them flamingos anyway
when he is older and can feel
what truth is beyond what he
can see and he can see it in
the fields and streets around him and the way
that there is smoke when he builds up
cities.

Then I woke up and there were
soap suds in my heart, but
my veins and my arms were not clean
and there was my brother making
fun of me for having so much
blood on my hands and it was a cold
morning and we were in the
woods covered in rain, there were trees
that were coming out of the ground like
humour from the mouth of a
prophet.

there is your hand print, like a
joke is laughing in the sand, he speaks. She looks
at him and he can see her chin is so
outside of her mouth when she speaks,
he can pick her up and they are below
sea level, but there is a noise
in their walk. They are not soldiers,
they feel like mice
and have a gigantic love for
flavour.

There are my eyes
that are being seen by a
bold assortment of vllagers.
They can laugh and laugh louder
than each other, but I know that
science is in the air and in the skies, because
there is a god named after planet and a
star that is a voice in the vilderness.

Why does his voice go
on to the street and the woman
that is a paper version
of a woman is on fire, but
his voice is not water
and he has a condition
of death and thirst and
there is woman who is the sun
and she is the true sun,
the glorious sun that
emperors of babylon knew and spoke with
and invented clay as a means
to lay. His voice
must be world and her skin must
be the light and there
are places on the earth, indents
of apocalypse, puffing out for tom-
orrow.

She is like a
body hair that is either sweaty
or in a thin plastic garbage
bag, surrounded by Kleenex, it is
because she is waiting for
something from above to
set her free and I am the one
who was for told from centuries
before to make her look more
like a beautiful woman. She looks
for moisture in the air, which is my
presence and maybe I will love her,
but she is not for me.